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by malaga
Summary: Alec Hardison likes to put people in little boxes. What happens when he tries to categorise a man who defies categorisation? Eliot/Alec slash, short fic.


Eliot is all about control. Like one of those zen monks, only, you know, violent, and not religious, and definitely not celibate. Okay, maybe he isn't like a zen monk at all. But Eliot doesn't really fit into a category, and that's a serious problem, because Hardison has always like categories. His Star Trek DVDs are firmly in Sci-fi, his Firefly DVDs bridge the gap between Sci-fi and Western, and he doesn't own any Stargate Universe DVDs because they are in the category marked 'Trash' and therefore only really worth downloading illegally, not buying.

The point is, people fit in categories too, and that works. Hacker, Hitter, Grifter, Thief, and Mastermind. A team. For a while, he thought Parker was going to be put in the Potentially Interesting box, but then she turned out to be more like a little sister. A sister who is insane and very good at kissing, sure, but a sister none the less. And Hardison didn't touch people who were crazy or of close relation. Before now, only Aunt Magda who wore three piece suits and yelled at everyone was both, but Parker is definitely there too, which makes her doubly off-limits. So, Family/Nuts, no problems there.

Nate is an alcoholic and a genius. How those two things together make for the only boss Hardison has ever had who he hasn't even dreamed of double-crossing, he doesn't know, but it's all good. As long as Sophie is there, Nate'll stay functioning and he'll keep being Boss.

Sophie used to be in the drawer marked Acquaintance bordering on Friend but now, as weird as it's sounds, she's like the big mama of their little group. She's no Nana, mind, but she's sort of in the Maternal spot, and that's pretty cool, because sometimes it's nice to have someone who notices when you're down and doesn't use that as the best time to kick you.

But Eliot is just plain confusing. Sometimes he's a Friend, sometimes someone Not To Be Trusted, and occasionally he joins Parker in the Nuts box. Like when they start acting like little girls with their first crushes whenever a new type of explosive is made. Or the way he gets all pissy when he has to pick up the dishes after cooking from where everyone leaves them and mutters about how no one appreciates him. That's just creepifying. Mostly though, he doesn't fit in any category, with his cooking, gardening, fashion-advising, professional hit man self.

Hardison has always been good at pushing people, dancing across the invisible lines they use to separate themselves from the rest of reality. That's because he knows exactly where the lines are, and when they're safe for crossing. That's why Eliot's control is such a problem. Alec doesn't know where the lines are, doesn't know when he's crossed them.

He sometimes thinks he's done it, this time Eliot's famous control will snap, and he'll be snapped in half in turn, by an irate mercenary. Instead, there come petty insults, or little smacks. And it's worrying to think that he might be killed for insulting a man's quiche without ever seeing it coming just because he doesn't know where the buttons are.

And then, one day Eliot does snap, just not in the way he'd always expected, in that he isn't six feet under with a confused Parker trying to find him hiding behind tombstones. Instead, he finds himself pushed against a wall in the kitchen, the pretty hair he'd just been mocking hanging loose and feathery around his face and an insistent mouth devouring his own. To be perfectly frank, he's in a state of shock right until they stumble their way into a bedroom, at which point he comes around pretty quick. It may be Age of the Geek, but that didn't mean he could afford to spend time in a daze when a gorgeous man was in his bed. Freak outs could come later; he was busy.

Then, what with one thing and another, he doesn't get a chance to think for a few hours. When he finally does, he snuggles down in the crumpled linen and enjoys the smell of hotcakes coming down the hallway with a grin. He guesses it's okay that Eliot doesn't have a pre-defined, easy fit category. He's Protector and Lover, Friend and Family, Killer and Chef. He's in a box of his own, marked 'Eliot' (also 'Mine' and 'Very Dangerous, This Way Up).


End file.
